Killer Take All Read online

  “That’s not right. There’s no way they could do such a thing!”

  “I’m afraid he can, Jonas,” Martin Gilmore said. “It’s part of the Fifth Amendment.”

  “I thought the Fifth Amendment said you didn’t have to talk if you didn’t want to,” Marshal Ferrell said.

  “Yes, that too. One of the things I had to do while studying law was remember the Fifth Amendment. It says ‘No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.’

  “It’s that last line, called the ‘taking clause’ that enables Poindexter to take whatever property is needed for the public good. And I think all of us here agree that the railroad is for the public good.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know about that. To be honest, I’m beginning to wonder if this railroad is going to be such a good thing after all,” Perkins grumbled.

  “Don’t come to any hasty decisions,” Martin Gilmore said.

  The reception continued, complete with a fine meal, music, and dancing. Most of the citizens of the town considered it to be a celebration, for all would welcome the railroad. It was only the few who had been a party to the discussion of eminent domain who were unable to put aside a little niggling concern as to where this would lead.

  Chapter Ten

  When the train arrived in Cheyenne it was met by Ed Collins and Roy Streeter.

  “I don’t see ’em,” Streeter said as they watched the arriving passengers leaving the train.

  “That’s because you aren’t looking in the right place,” Collins said. He pointed to a cattle car that was attached to the train. There, several Chinese passengers, men and women, were exiting the car without benefit of ramp or step. They had to jump down onto the platform, and because it was rather high, exiting the car wasn’t an easy task.

  “There they are,” he said.

  Collins and Streeter went down to meet them. Everyone had exited the car except two men, and they were passing down the belongings.

  “Do any of you speak English?” Collins asked.

  “I am Cong Sing,” the oldest of the Chinese said.

  “You have come to work for the railroad?”

  Cong Sing placed his hands together, prayer like, and bowed his head, slightly. “Shi. Yes,” he translated quickly.

  “I’ve got a wagon and team of mules for you. Get your people loaded and I’ll show you where to go.”

  “When will work begin?” Cong Sing asked.

  “It will begin when I tell you it will begin,” Collins replied.

  “Shi,” Cong Sing said, again placing his hands together and bowing his head slightly.

  * * *

  Doty Simmons drove a freight wagon for Matthews Mercantile and he was returning with a load of goods from Cheyenne. He was about a mile south of Chugwater when he was surprised to see a dozen or more Chinese camped alongside the road. He stopped his wagon and stared at them for a moment. They had a campfire going and a pot hanging over the fire. The group consisted of men and women, some of whom were drinking from a cup, a couple were eating, and the others were sitting or lying on the ground.

  Simmons thought about approaching them and asking what they were doing here, but there were so many of them that if they took his questioning wrong, it might be dangerous for him. He snapped the reins against the team and hurried the wagon on, passing them by without looking into the eyes of anyone. As soon as he reached Matthews Mercantile he backed the wagon up against the dock.

  As the dockhands began unloading the wagon, Simmons walked down to the marshal’s office. “They’s a bunch o’ Chinamen just outside o’ town,” he told Marshal Ferrell.

  “What are they doing there? Did you ask?”

  “No, I, uh, well the truth is I didn’t feel that it would be right for me to go up ’n ask ’em anything. It don’t look like they’re doin’ nothin’ more ’n just sittin’ around out there, like they’re waitin’ on somethin’ to happen. ’N here’s the strange thing. They ain’t got no horses, no wagons, nothin’. Looks like they musta walked. I can’t figure out no other way they coulda got there.”

  “Yes, well thanks for tellin’ me.”

  “You goin’ to go out there ’n see what it’s all about?”

  “Yes, I’ll take care of it.”

  After Simmons left, Marshal Ferrell walked down to Lu Win’s Restaurant, intending to ask Win to come with him to question the Chinaman to see why they were there. When he went inside he smiled in relief when he saw Wang Chow sitting at a table drinking tea.

  “Wang, can I talk to you for a moment?”

  “Yes. Sit and drink tea with me as we talk.”

  “Uh, do they serve coffee in here?”

  Wang called out to a young woman, speaking to her in Chinese, and a moment later she appeared with a cup of coffee, putting it before the marshal with a pretty smile.

  “Wang, there’s a bunch of Chinamen that’s camped just outside of town,” Marshal Ferrell said. “Do you know anything about them? Who they are? How they get there? And what they are doing there?”

  “I do not know of this,” Wang replied.

  “Well I was wondering, that is if you don’t mind, if you would go with me to talk to ’em ’n find out what this is all about. I mean you bein’ a Chinaman ’n all, they’d more likely talk to you than they would to me. ’n even if they did talk to me, chances are that I wouldn’t understand nothin’ they was sayin’ anyway.”

  “I will come.”

  * * *

  When Wang and Marshal Ferrell reached the encampment, the air was redolent with the smell of cooked pork. There were a dozen men and half again as many women. All the men were seated, while the women were cooking.

  One of the men stood, then approached Wang and Marshal Ferrell as they dismounted. Putting his hands together, he dipped his head, then spoke. “Wènhòu xinshng. Báirén shì jiànzhú lobn ma?”

  “Melyou,” Wang answered. “Njiào shénme míngzì.”

  “Cong Sing.”

  “What was all that?” Ferrell asked.

  “His name is Cong Sing. He wanted to know if you were to be their construction boss. I told him that you were not.”

  “Construction boss for what? How did they get here?”

  For the next few minutes Wang and Cong Sing spoke, their conversation followed closely by the others. Finally Wang turned to Ferrell to give him a report on what was said.

  “They are here to build the railroad. They came by train to Cheyenne, where they were met by someone and brought here by wagon. The person who brought them left them here and said they would be contacted later by someone who will be their boss.”

  Ferrell smiled and nodded. “Yes, tell them I know about the railroad, but I know nothing about who is to meet them. Tell them they can wait here and they will not be bothered.”

  Wang translated for Ferrell, then, exchanging goodbyes, he and the marshal rode back into town, leaving the Chinese railroad construction crew behind.

  Home of Preston Poindexter, Manhattan’s Upper East Side

  “I’m really proud of Jake, and I think you will be, too,” Preston said.

  “I suppose I am,” Emma Marie said. “But, Pete, I am worried so about him being out there in the middle of nowhere.”

  Preston, who was known as Pete to his family and close friends, he said, “There’s no need for you to worry about him. He sends me a telegram just about every other day keeping me apprised of what is going on. Why, he has already hired a bunch of Chinese workers, and we wouldn’t do that if he h
adn’t made enough progress in all the initial planning and surveying to get the project underway.”

  “How is he doing?” Emma Marie asked. “Is he eating well? Is he staying healthy?”

  Pete laughed out loud, then reached over to lay his hand on hers. “Why, he’s probably healthier than he has ever been in his life. And why not? He’s living in the wide-open spaces. Emma Marie, believe me, there isn’t a young man in the entire country who wouldn’t willingly change places with him right now. He wanted some adventure. He’s having the adventure of a lifetime, and the best thing about it is, it isn’t a wasted adventure. He’s accomplishing something. He’s building a railroad.”

  “I know he is, and I know I’m just being foolish worrying about him so. I suppose it’s just a mother’s worry is all.”

  “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll send a telegram tomorrow that will come directly from you. All you have to do is tell me what you would like to say.”

  “I would like for you to tell him that his mother loves him, and wants him to be very careful.”

  “All right, I’ll see to it that the telegram is sent first thing tomorrow.”

  “No, wait. That might embarrass him.” Emma Marie held out her hand and smiled sheepishly. “Just tell him that I am very proud of him.”

  “I can do that,” Pete said.

  Chapter Eleven

  “It’s time to start confiscating all the free range and buying the more choice land that we want,” Collins said. “I expect there will be a lot of people who aren’t going to be very happy about what’s going on, and that’s where you and our railroad police come in.”

  “Takin’ in all this land like this, how is it that it ain’t stealin’?” Bo Hawken asked.

  “Hell, it is stealing,” Collins replied with a little laugh. “However, this stealing is legal. Poindexter explained it all to me.”

  “Damn, who was smart enough to come up with somethin’ like this?” Streeter asked.

  “Who have we got on watch?” Collins asked.

  “Hawken ’n Butrum.”

  “Bring Butrum back in. One is all we need,” Collins said.

  “All right.”

  “Boys,” Collins said with a wide smile. “Let’s start making some money!”

  * * *

  Two days later, Roy Streeter, Jalen Nichols, and Clete Dixon were driving about fifty head of cattle toward the main part of Pitchfork Ranch when they were stopped by a cowboy known only as Dirt.

  “Looks to me like them’s Pitchfork cows,” Dirt said.

  “Yeah.” Streeter pointed to the brand. “That’s what we figured when we seen this brand that looks like a pitchfork.”

  “All right. So now you know, just where is it that you boys think you’re a-goin’ with ’em?” Dirt asked.

  “We’re gettin’ ’em off C ’n FL land,” Streeter said.

  “C ’n FL land? What are you talkin’ about? Where is this C ’n FL land?”

  “This here is C ’n FL land,” Streeter said with a wide sweep of his arm. “We’re on C ’n FL land right now. So are you. ’N so are these cows, which is why we’re pushin’ ’em back.”

  “The hell you say.” Dirt pointed to the north, the direction from which the cattle were coming. “That land there belongs to the Pitchfork, all the way to Lone Tree Crick. You ain’t got no claim to it, ’n you ain’t got right to be moving Pitchfork cows around, neither.”

  “This here ain’t actual Pitchfork land. It belongs to the government,” Streeter said, again taking in the area with a wide sweep of his arm. “Right now Pitchfork is usin’ it as free range, but it’s pretty soon goin’ to belong to us by government grant. And when that happens, we don’t want none o’ Pitchfork’s cows on it.”

  “Why the hell would the government be a-givin’ you the land?”

  “Because we’re building a railroad,” Streeter said.

  “Yeah, I heard that you’re buildin’ a railroad, ever’one knows that, but that don’t give you no right to just come in ’n start takin’ the land ’n runnin’ off the cattle.”

  Streeter’s smile was without humor. “Yeah, it does.”

  “We’ll just see about that,” Dirt said. Turning his horse, he galloped back to the main house where he found Dale Allen, owner of the Pitchfork, watching one of the other hands working on the pump.

  “Damn, Dirt, what’s got you in such a frenzy?” Dale asked.

  “It’s the North Range, Mr. Allen,” Dirt said. “They’s some men from the railroad that’s come ’n drove off all the cows we got up there. They say the North Range don’t belong to you no more. They say the government has took it ’n give it to the railroad.”

  * * *

  Over the next several days, more “right-of-way” land was acquired, not only from the ranchers in the immediate vicinity of Chugwater, but along the entire route from Cheyenne to Fort Laramie. So far Sky Meadow had not been affected.

  “’Tis thinking I am there is nae way I’ll be for avoiding this,” Duff told Biff as the two of them shared Biff’s personal table in Fiddler’s Green.

  “I don’t know, Duff,” Biff said. “When all this started everyone was all excited about it. But Dale Allen of the Pitchfork, then David Lewis of Trail Back, and Webb Dakota of Mountain Shadow . . . all three of ’em have seen a lot of their land taken.”

  “Aye, but to be fair, Biff, ’tis not their land that’s been taken so far. ’Tis only the free range, ’n since all the free range belongs to the government, we’ve been sort of borrowing it in the first place.”

  At that moment Charley Blanton came into Fiddler’s Green then stepped back to the table where Duff and Biff were visiting. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Do you mind if I join you?” Charley was carrying a roll of paper which was obviously too long to be a proof sheet for the newspaper.

  “Please do.” Biff held up his hand. “Kay, a glass of wine for Mr. Blanton.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Johnson,” the pretty young hostess replied.

  “You bein’ the newspaper editor ’n on top o’ things, ’tis sure I am that you know the land being taken from Allen, Lewis, and Dakota,” Duff said, making it a statement, rather than a question.

  “Yes, I know. Believe me, I know,” Charles replied.

  “What’s that you’re carrying?” Biff asked.

  “Something I want to show you,” Charley said as he accepted the wine Kay brought to the table. “First, I want to know what you two think about all the land grabbing that’s been going on.”

  “’Tis becoming a bit disturbin’,” Duff said. “But to be fair, we were warned about it before they started.”

  “Yes, well it’s considerably more than a bit disturbing, I would say,” Charley replied. “I don’t know what it means, or if it means anything at all, but Dempster told me that over fifty thousand dollars has been deposited in the bank to the Poindexter account.”

  “Well, I would think that’s a good thing. It means that the ranchers are going to be compensated for the land that’s been taken.”

  Charley shook his head. “Yes, but the money has been deposited, and some of it withdrawn, which is somewhat strange because no land has actually been taken by eminent domain yet and no work has started, so where is the money going?”

  “Aye, I can see why that might be a puzzle.”

  “Biff, you asked what this paper is. I’m going to show you, and you’ll see that this is even more puzzling than the withdrawal of the money.” Charley unrolled the document he was carrying, which proved to be a map, and spread it out on the table. “The Land Grant Act of 1864 provides railroad developers with alternating sections on either side of the tracks as well as all the minerals underneath all that land.

  “Now this is the most logical route from Cheyenne to Fort Laramie.” Charley traced out the route with his finger as he spoke. “Through Walbach, across Lodge Pole Creek, through the Goodwin Ranch, through the Davis Ranch, across Bear Creek, through Sky Meadow, across Horse Creek, thro
ugh Chugwater, then across Box Elder and Cherry Creeks to Uva, then alongside the Laramie River to the Platte River and Fort Laramie. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Aye,’tis clearly the best route,” Duff said. “It’s the shortest, and it doesn’t have to cross any mountain ranges.”

  “I’m glad you agree. But now look at the land grants they have confiscated so far. Two thousand acres that was being used as free-range graze for Pitchfork, a thousand acres from Mountain Shadow, and three thousand acres of free rangeland being used by Trail Back. And, you said no mountain range? Here are two thousand acres from the Snowy Range, and another two thousand from way up here in the Laramie Mountain Range. Now, let me show you how the tracks would have to go in order to follow these land acquisitions.”

  With his finger, Charley traced out several zigzags on the map, in some cases several miles away from the most logical route.

  “What the hell?” Biff said. “That makes no sense at all.”

  “Maybe it does,” Charley said. “Take a look at these acquisitions I told you about, and see if anything stands out for you.”

  Biff put his finger on the southern tip of the Laramie Mountains. “Isn’t there a working silver mine here?”

  “Good observation, Biff. Indeed there was a working silver mine there, but it turns out the claim wasn’t properly filed, and now it belongs to the C and FL Railroad. And here, here, and here are some of the best grazing lands in all of Wyoming, plus, of course, a very good and continuous source of water. But, as you can see, none of these sections are along the most logical route.”

  “That’s very interesting,” Duff said.

  “Yes, I thought you might find it so,” Charley replied.

  “I wonder what it means,” Biff said.

  “I’m beginning to think it means some chicanery with the way this railroad is doing business.” Charley rolled the paper back up. “And I intend to find out just what it is.”

  Corporate office of P R and M

  “Norman, another fifty thousand dollars?” Pete asked.

  “That’s what Jake is requesting,” Jamison replied.